


The women in my life (are where I fuck up)

by seriousfic



Category: Pitt Casefiles
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-18
Updated: 2010-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriousfic/pseuds/seriousfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about Joe and Lydia is, they're not friends. They're just two people who would give a damn if the other died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The women in my life (are where I fuck up)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sabaceanbabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabaceanbabe/gifts).



Believe it or not, it is possible for me to clear a case and not have my health insurance go up. Not just because I don't have health insurance either. Like today. Ran down a bail jumper, saved someone's car from being repossessed. Made some cash. Even got a few quarts of blood locked away. Muggers. They never learn.

Which made it Miller time. Not that vampires can get drunk. Not that we stop trying.

O'Malley's was opened by a pair of brothers, beat cops who didn't want to spend their retirement as rent-a-cops, cashing mall checks with drunk Santas and Justin Bieber fans. So they turned an old comedy club into an Irish pub. Two months later, they both die in a race riot. Yuppie scum takes the property off their wives' hands and changes everything but the name. American success story. But the Heinekens' cheap and a guy in the bathroom sells more drugs than a pharmacy. That means addicts, addicts mean blood. That's worth two stars in my restaurant guide.

I was soaking in the ambiance – classy way of saying I was bored enough to want a barfight – when I saw Lydia. You know that Saturday Night Live sketch where Eddie Murphy got made up to look white? If Michelle Rodriguez went to the same make-up parlor, you'd be halfway to Lydia. Add Superman's moral code and subtract the closet, you're there. I don't like her, but it'd take something for me to dislike her. If I'd been born dickless and with a lifelong membership in the Xena fanclub, we'd probably have gotten along famously.

She wasn't wearing her John McClane union suit, but jeans and one of those tops there isn't a word for in masculine language. She looked good, maybe even a little made up. Her short hair seemed more pixieish than Dolph Lundgren.

I dropped in on her table. Like I said, ambiance. "Two vampires at the same night spot. When does Buffy show up?"

"Fuck you, Pitt. It's my night off." It was true. She was even nursing a girlie drink. Which of the seven signs was that again?

She didn't look up at me, which was always annoying when you were being an attention whore. I followed her eyes to a girl at the bar, pretty by anyone's standards. One of those hipster chicks that were in season this year.

"What does Terry want with her?" I asked. "What I mean is, she give out hugs or puppies?"

"Terry doesn't want shit from her except what he wants from everybody." Lydia made a dismissive gesture reminiscent of tolerance, social justice, and the Toyota Prius. "I want her phone number. Did I mention fuck you?"

"You touched on it." I straddled a chairs, getting a better look at her crush. "Never known you to be hormonal before. Didn't know there was a woman man enough for you." She looked at me with assault and battery in her eyes, so I changed the subject. "So what's the problem? You've got the fingers of a pianist and the politics of Tina Fey. What more could a girl ask for? Go say hi."

As I said that, I signaled for two beers, my tab. It smoothed out a lot of rough edges.

Lydia slugged back hers like it was ambrosia. "Since the social etiquette of anything more than mooching cigarettes has escaped you, I'm gonna give you a remedial course in civilization. Some people don't take kindly to being propositioned by members of the same sex. They take everything the wrong way and make a big scene, just because they fit the beauty standards of someone with an alternate sexuality. Or, in terms you can understand, straight women are crazy. It's the men. Everything they do is how to get a man, how to please a man, how to keep a man. You've got the cosmetics industry and the fashion industry and the movie industry and goddamn Cosmo, all assaulting their sense of self 24/7. Makes me glad no one ever caters to homosexual women, because it's enough to drive anyone insane."

"So now you're trying to figure out if the girl you're stalking is a lesbian based on how she looks. Don't you and Terry have a word for that?"

Lydia ignored me. It was getting to be annoying. "Those shoes are gay, but that bra is all about the boys."

"Maybe she's bisexual."

Lydia winced. "Five guys have tried to talk to her in the last hour, and none of them have gotten eight sentences in. Explain that."

My turn to wince. I'd been joking about the stalking, but apparently Lydia's life _was_ Twilight. "Maybe she's waiting for someone who stood her up."

"No one's that stupid." She was looking in my direction. I got the impression I had barely scrapped by with 'no one.'

"Maybe I can offer my expertise."

"At what? Turning her gay?"

"More along the lines of recon. I go in, sweeten her up a little, and if she doesn't go for it, she's all yours."

Lydia gave me a look I had a feeling only straight guys got. "And what if you're not her type, Casanova?"

I gave her some teeth. "This smile is every woman's type."

I ordered two more drinks to take to the bar, but downed both on the way. This had anesthesia written all over it.

I reached the girl and leaned in like personal space had been outlawed. She really was a looker. Hazel eyes, brown hair, wisps of a tattoo at her neck promising more under that top, that bra.

Lydia had good taste.

"Hey, you settle a bet for me?" I didn't try not to slur my words, and the drink had been flowing before Lydia got there. So my drunk act didn't need any work. "That girl there." Lydia. "She thinks you're cute. Like, maybe you have an Ellen thing going. But me, I say you're too damn cute to be a dyke. I mean, I mean you could have any guy you want." I leaned in closer to whisper so only half the bar could hear. "And you may not have noticed without your glasses, but I'm a guy."

She shoved me like a hockey player and made a beeline to Lydia. Ten seconds of hushed conversation and vigorous gesturing, then Lydia was on her way to me. Her body language was NFL, but her eyes telegraphed "them's the breaks." I rolled with the punch, but it was still a haymaker.

I woke up with a chipped tooth and the bartender telling me the knight in shining army boots had left with her damsel. The Vyrus would take care of one, time the other. I ate some bar peanuts with a chipped tooth, because fuck it, and called it a night.

I didn't do it because Lydia had my back. She didn't. And I didn't do it for good karma, because if that shit worked, we'd all be cockroaches by now. It just comes in handy to know not everyone is alone, any given night.

Some idiot might think his turn's coming up or something.

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, I couldn't find a beta, but before I posted this I reread two of the books and gave it an extra-thorough checking over. Hopefully, I caugth eery eror.


End file.
